OLS
by orange-sunshiine
Summary: OLS stands for Outdoor Living Skills. Mort gets lost in the woods for a few days and makes some poor decisions. Rated for safety.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: OLS is short for Outdoor Living Skills. I love the outdoors and camping so I figured I'd write a short story involving our favorite author.

Ch. 1

If there was anything at all that Mort wished he could remember, it would be the stuff he'd learned in boy scouts. Granted he'd only been in the program for a month before a few other boys had ganged up on him and beat him up, leaving him tied to a tree in his underwear. Still, he remembered learning some basic survival skills while on the camping trip. Something about making a fire, building a lean-to and making band aids out of fungus.

Just being able to effectively start a fire would've helped. It was getting dark, now, dark and cold, and Mort had no idea where he was. Sighing, he sat down near a tree, thinking back to what had occurred earlier in the day.

Flashback_: Mort had been eating his typical breakfast of Doritos and Mountain Dew that morning, minding his own business. He had been exceptionally hungry for some reason, and was about to reach for a second bag of chips when something caught his eye. There was a shadow cast out from under the door._

"_Who's there?" he asked, trying not to sound too nervous. _

_There was a laugh, and a familiar sounding voice spoke up._

"_You know who it is. Come on, open the door."_

"_Fuck." Mort had hoped that those days with Shooter were behind him, now. _

_Without another word, Mort grabbed his sweater and made his way out the back door. He didn't want to get involved in this. If Shooter had come back, he knew that he had to get as far away from other people as possible. If someone were to come over… there's no telling what he might do._

_Fast as he could, he took the path around the house into the woods. Maybe if he went for a hike his mind would re-sort itself. At the very least, he'd be away from society for a few hours._

_Mort power walked through the trees, down a lesser known path. He'd been down it once or twice before and felt confident that he'd be able to find his way back._

_This was around 10am. _

_He'd walked and walked and walked, further and further into the woods, not bothering to stop._

Now, he was regretting not marking a trail in some way. There was no way that he'd make it back home tonight, so he was stuck. Sighing, Mort considered where he should sleep. He could try to build a shelter out of sticks, but that'd take a while and it was getting dark fast. The other option was to make a bed out of leaves, to try to start a fire, and hope that it kept him warm for the night.

Deciding that the latter was the best idea, Mort began to pile sticks together. It'd rained recently, but he'd managed to find a few dry ones. He then took out his lighter, feeling thankful that at least he had that, and began to try to light the kindle wood. His first try failed. So did his second.

"Fuck. THINK," he told himself, looking the pile of wood over. He recalled the scout master putting the sticks in a teepee type formation, and decided to try it. The sparks began to catch this time, and he managed to build a small fire.

Next, he began to gather leaves, piling them about a foot away from the blaze. Hopefully there wouldn't be too many bugs. Once the sun rose, he could find his way back. He just had to get through the evening.

00

Mort spent the night shivering and unable to sleep. The fire had eventually gone out, leaving Mort cold and in the dark. Besides that, he felt like there were bugs crawling all over him, even though they weren't. And, to make matters worse, the nocturnal animals that lived in the woods had come out and were howling, tweeting, and scampering around.

When dawn finally came, Mort was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to actually get some rest. It wasn't an option though. This was going to be his only shot at getting home.

Trying to retrace his steps, Mort began to walk back through the woods. About half an hour in, his stomach began to growl. It was then that he realized that he hadn't eaten in nearly twenty four hours, and the last thing that he had eaten had been a measly bag of chips.

'Come on, Mort. You'll be okay,' he told himself, continuing to push forward.

But, as time wore on, the hunger pangs became almost crippling. His stomach hurt very badly, and Mort was starting to get light headed. He hadn't made much progress as far as finding the path back home, either. So, he'd have to find food here. There had to be something he could eat, right?

After searching around for a few minutes, he came upon a bush that had several dark colored berries on it. They looked like black berries, or something related to that type of fruit. Mort picked a few and began to eat them. Probably not the best idea, but he really had no alternative. Just having something in his stomach made him feel better, and he continued to pick and eat for a while. Most of the berries were gone by the time he was done.

Now having more energy, Mort once again began his quest to get back home.

He walked for what felt like miles, on a trail that he thought was the correct one, to no avail. By noon he was still in the middle of nowhere.

Now, he was starting to get scared.

Then, to top things off, his vision started to blur. Colors started to change, too. A green tree began to look orange.

"Fuck," Mort whispered to himself, "I'm starting to hallucinate. Must've been those berries. Wait, why am I talking to myself?"

No one answered, of course.

Mort could feel his heart rate start to pick up. He had no idea what he was going to do now. He'd definitely be unable to find his way back.

"Just keep calm, Mort," he told himself. "Keep calm and you'll have a good trip." The last thing he needed right then was for the hallucinations to turn ugly.

Not knowing what else to do, he continued walking, staying on the trail as best he could.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Yeah, I gave Mort diarrhea. That's what happens when you eat random fruit in the woods.

Ch. 2

Mort sighed loudly as he gazed up at the sky. A lion-headed eagle type creature had just flown by and hissed at him, before landing in a neon yellow apple tree. There was also something akin to a Kodiak bear up there, too, eating honey and having a conversation with a starfish.

"Yeah, probably shouldn't have eaten those berries," Mort thought to himself.

He'd given up hiking about an hour prior, when the hallucinations had gotten so bad that it was nearly impossible for him to walk. Instead, he was lying in a field, staring at his surroundings. He knew that none of what he was seeing was real, but that didn't make it any less scary.

The sun was starting to set again, and besides the weird creatures he was seeing, all Mort could think about was how thirsty he was, and how terrible he felt. Besides making him see the weirdest stuff ever, the berries had made him sick to his stomach. Currently, he was trying to ignore the weird grumbling sounds it was making. Getting sick again might mean certain death, especially with no water source nearby.

The writer closed his eyes, hoping for sleep to take him.

00

It was completely dark out when Mort woke up. The sky was lit up with beautiful, bright stars. And, there were no lion headed eagles in sight. The hallucinogens must've worn off. Mort's stomach made a weird sound again, though, letting him know that not all was well. He could tell that there wasn't any choice now but to find a place to relieve himself. Frowning, he pushed himself up and began making his way towards the outline of some trees.

For the next few minutes, Mort was very thankful that no one was nearby. He wouldn't have wanted anyone hearing what was going on. When he finally felt better, he used some leaves to clean up before standing up again. From where he was now, he could hear something in the distance. It sounded like rushing water.

"No way," Mort mumbled, feeling his way along various trees as he walked towards the sound. Only the light of the moon aided him, but it was enough. Soon enough, he'd hit the source of what he had been hearing. Moonlight reflected off a small stream of rushing water. He was so thirsty that it looked like the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

Briefly, he reconsidered drinking it. He'd heard so many stories about unclean water causing people to become very sick, but if he didn't drink it, he feared he might be dead within a day. Again, what choice did he have? He was sick already, anyway, and had nothing to boil the water in, even if he could start a fire again.

Deciding just to go for it, Mort took a step forward. As it was dark, he didn't see the tree root sticking out nearby. His shoe caught on it, and Mort went flying forward, landing on his hands and knees. He felt his ankle twist as he went down, and he cried out instinctively. But, he was now mere inches from the water. Forgetting the pain in his leg, he reached down and began scooping up the water to drink.


	3. Chapter 3

Ch. 3

After he'd gotten his fill of water, Mort began to realize how seriously injured his ankle was. He tried to stand back up on it, but had nearly fallen over again. To put any weight on it hurt tremendously.

So, he was trapped. He didn't have any choice but to wait near the stream, and hope that someone happened to walk by.

00

The following morning, Mort was even sicker than he'd been the previous day, but he was throwing up more than anything. Once he'd the morning sunlight had hit the water, he'd seen that it was dirty, which was likely causing his problems.

For the majority of the day, Mort lay near the creek, sweating, shaking, and trying to keep calm.

By midday, he'd almost had it. If he was going to die, he just wanted it to happen quickly. He felt incredibly weak.

Mort once again closed his eyes as the sun rose in the sky.

00

"Hey, you. You alive?"

Mort could hear someone – a woman – talking to him. He slowly cracked his eyes open. His vision was blurry again, but he could make out a woman in tan clothes with dark hair.

"Yes..." Mort croaked, trying to focus on her.

"Are you Morton Rainey?"

"Yes."

"We've been looking all over for you. Are you injured?

Mort nodded weakly, "Sick... and I hurt my ankle."

"Alright. Let me call it in and I'll check you over." the woman pulled her radio out, and began speaking into it. "Della to camp. I've located Mr. Rainey. He's alive but injured and apparently sick. We're in quadrant 42. Over."

There was static, then a male voice started to reply.

"Della, this is Guy. Can you get him to Gray Cabin? We can meet you there."

Della sighed. "I'll try. Can you start heading this way, anyway? Meet in the middle?"

"We'll try. We'll start out now."

"Thanks."

Della put the radio back, and turned her attention back to Mort, who looked like he was about to pass out.

"Alright, Mr. Rainey. I'm Della Montag and I'm a park ranger, as you could guess. You mentioned that you're sick?"

"Mhm..." Mort felt like he was going to throw up again, but was trying to hold it back.

"Vomiting, diarrhea type sick?"

"Both..."

Judging by how sunken Mort's eyes were, Della could tell that he was dehydrated. "Were you drinking from the stream there?"

"Yes. Bad mistake."

"Okay. That water's bad," she noted, before pulling her back pack off. She took a large water bottle out. "I'm going to give you something to drink, but you need to drink it very slowly."

Ignoring Della's instructions, Mort began to drink the cold water quickly. At first, it felt great to have something to drink, but a few seconds later, as he began to feel the water flow down his throat and into his stomach, he began to regret it.

"Slow down!" Della scolded, pulling his hand back, "You're going to make yourself sick!"

"Too late," Mort replied, groaning. He rested his other hand on his stomach, trying to calm it down.

Della sighed, and took the water back, screwing the top back on. "Take a few deep breaths and close your eyes."

Mort groaned again, but did as he was told. It didn't help much though.

"I have to go," he said, opening his eyes again. "Please...I have to go."

"Alright, alright. I'll be a few feet away. Go do what you gotta do. Can you walk?"

"I'll try."

"Call me when you're done."

As soon as the woman had walked off, Mort crawled away, hiding behind a bush. He hoped to god that she couldn't hear him. The whole situation was humiliating enough as it was. When he was done, he crawled back over to the tree he'd been leaning against.

"You done?" Della called out.

"Yes..."

Mort couldn't help but blush when he saw Della again. She picked up on his feelings right away.

"It's alright, Mr. Rainey. Lots of people get sick from drinking the water. You're not the first and you won't be the last."

The statement helped a little bit, but Mort still felt embarrassed.

"I'll need to check your ankle before we go on," Della said.

Mort nodded, and moved his leg so that she could see it.

Della kneeled down near him, and began rolling his jeans up, prodding his leg.

"Ow!", Mort hissed, wincing as she touched his ankle bone.

Della frowned. "It's fractured, I think. I'm going to wrap it with an ace bandage but I don't have much on me. We're going to have to hike up about a mile or so go get to the cabin. Another ranger's coming to meet us to help us get there, but we have to assume that its worst case and we'll have to get to the cabin alone. So you're going to have to walk on it."

"Okay." Mort didn't know what else to say. He didn't have much of a say in this, it seemed.

Della began rifling through her backpack, pulling out a large ace bandage a few seconds later.

"Alrighty then." she set to wrapping Mort's ankle up, tying it tightly. "I know it's uncomfortable but we have to try to keep it steady. When you walk, you have to try not to put weight on it."

"I'll try."

"Good." Della looked around, and then checked her watch. "We have about an hour of daylight left. We can probably make it to the cabin for the night if we start now." She reached out, to help Mort up. She was stronger than she looked, as she was able to pull him up without a struggle.

Seeing Mort sway on his feet a little, Della wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him. "Arm around my shoulders. You're going to lean on me as we walk."

"Okay." Mort put most of his weight on the woman, letting her lead.

Thankfully, the woman seemed to know the trails very well, and she led them along a path that didn't have much in the way. It was still a painful trip, though, and they had to stop every few minutes because it hurt too much for Mort to walk.

The physical exertion of hiking didn't help him feel better in any other way, either. By the time they reached the small cabin, he was sweating, and having a hard time breathing. They made it just after the sun set.


	4. Chapter 4

Ch. 4

The cabin was small. One room and made out of wood with no insulation whatsoever. It wasn't much, but it was better than being out in the open. There was a single bed pushed against one of the walls, and a wood burning stove in the center of the room.

Della helped Mort to the bed.

"Lie down for a while. I'm going to start a fire. Guy will be here either later tonight or first thing in the morning."

Mort nodded, and curled up on the mattress. He still felt terrible, but lying down did help a little.

In the meantime, Della began placing some firewood into the stove.

"The campers up here are good," she noted, "They always try to do the right thing and leave firewood inside. I'll have to gather some more before we leave."

Mort just groaned in reply. He was starting to feel extremely cold.

"You okay?" Della asked.

"So cold…" Mort curled up a little more.

Della lit a piece of newspaper that'd been left there and the fire began to start. Her next move was to go over to the closet. Inside were several woolen blankets. She took two out, and came back over to Mort, wrapping them around him.

Once he was securely tucked in, Della reached for his forehead.

"Damn. I knew something was off."

"Huh?" Mort asked. He was starting to get dizzy again.

"You've got a fever. Probably from being sick and being outside all that time."

"Ugh."

"It's okay. I've got some aspirin. Always good to be prepared, right?" Della smirked at her comment, obviously proud of herself. "As long as we give you that and keep you hydrated I'm sure you'll be fine." Once again, she reached for her backpack, taking out a small vial of medicine.

"Open up," she instructed.

Mort quietly opened his mouth, allowing her to place two pills on his tongue.

Next she got her water bottle out, and held it to his lips. "Take a few sips and swallow the meds."

Mort took a mouth full of water, and forced himself to swallow it. He felt like someone had repeatedly kicked him in the stomach, and wasn't enjoying the prospect of having to eat or drink anything.

"Good job."

Mort glanced up at the ranger, and saw that she was looking at him kindly. Now that he was focusing, he noticed that she was actually quite attractive. She had big, brown, almond shaped eyes, and her skin had a healthy, sun-kissed glow. Her arms were toned, too. She looked very athletic.

"You're pretty," he said, before realizing what was coming out of his mouth. Usually he wasn't particularly forward.

"Well thank you! Now, you ought to try to rest. I'll wake you if the other rangers come."

00

Despite Della's efforts to help, Mort's fever only rose as time went on. He'd also continued to get sick. At one point, he'd thrown up all over himself and the blankets that Della had given him. Della had simply cleaned him up and given him new blankets and a bucket, not saying a word about the incident at all. She didn't want to make him feel bad over it. Mort was dually grateful to have such a beautiful woman care about him and embarrassed that she had to.

Around ten, it'd started raining outside. Mort could hear it pounding against the cabin. It made him nervous, for some reason, so he had appreciated it when Della had come to sit near him and keep him company. She had been in the middle of feeling his forehead again when there was a knock at the door.

"Oh! That has to be Guy. Didn't think he'd make it tonight." She got up and walked over to the door, letting him in.

Guy wore yellow poncho to protect him from the rain, and he looked to be younger, probably around Della's age. He had black hair with a touch of gray, and like Della, looked like he worked outside a lot.

"Glad you made it," Della said. She leaned in and pecked him on the cheek, and Mort couldn't help but feel a tiny bit of jealousy over it.

"Hopefully I can help," Guy replied, taking his poncho off.

Once he was a bit more settled, the two rangers began to talk. Mort was still within earshot, but neither seemed to care.

"How's he doing?"

"His fever's rising. I'm getting a bit worried, wondering if we should see if we can call for a medevac."

Guy glanced over at Mort before replying. "You don't think he can make it back to base camp?"

Della shook her head, "He's really sick. He can't keep anything down, not even water."

"I can hear you," Mort reminded them. He really didn't like people talking about him when he was right there.

Both Guy and Della looked over, and Guy spoke up.

"Hi Mr. Rainey. My name's Guy, I'm part of Emergency Services. I'm going to check you out, okay? See if I can help."

Mort glared at him, not looking forward to the idea of this man poking and prodding him.

"Della's doing a fine job," Mort said, not bothering to disguise the annoyance in his voice.

"I'm sure she is, but you're still getting sick."

Mort rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Guy and Della both came over to the bed, Guy bringing his bag of medical supplies with him. The young man pulled out a thermometer. "Put this under your tongue, please."

"What, no battery powered ones?" Mort replied.

"Batteries might go dead, we spend so much time out here looking for the sick and injured... better to just have a regular ol' thermometer that won't die on us."

Mort said nothing, but allowed Guy to place the instrument under his tongue.

A minute or so later, Guy removed it. "102.5. Not good." he turned back to Della. "You said you gave him aspirin?"

"Yes, but I think he threw it back up."

Mort blushed when Della mentioned this. He'd have preferred that Guy not know about that whole ordeal.

"Alright," Guy continued, focusing his attention back on Mort. "What's the last thing you ate and when?"

"Berries. They made me hallucinate."

"And when?"

"A little over a day ago." And, because things were not bad enough, Mort's stomach chose that time to force him to spill out it's contents. He hadn't been able to control it. He'd leaned forward, and thrown up... right on Guy's lap.

Guy didn't even seem to react. That was the worst part. Mort would've preferred if he'd gotten angry, or yelled at him, or something. The fact that the man simply got up, used a towel to clean himself off, and walked away made him feel as if the others considered him to be weak. People tend not to punish the weak.

When he had finished cleaning up, Guy sighed, then spoke up again. "Alright. Okay, Della, I agree, we should get a medevac. I'll radio in for help. They'll likely be unable to come until morning though, what with the storm. I think our best bet is to just... make him comfortable. You got another bucket here?"

Della nodded.

"Good. He's gonna need it."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I had a hard time describing Shooter and Mort and their connection – how Mort sees him, but he actually is Mort and all. I did my best. **

Ch. 5

Shooter had shown up around midnight, not that Della or Guy had seen him. Mort had been the only one to notice him slip through the entrance. Shooter had stood there, smiling at the two rangers. Guy was busy tending to the fire, while Della sat in a corner, catching a couple hours of sleep before her turn to keep watch.

Mort didn't particularly like Guy, but he did like Della, and he knew that Shooter's presence meant bad news for her. He might not be able to control himself. So, he did the only thing he could think of.

"GET OUT!" he yelled, sitting up in bed, "You both need to leave. Now."

Guy turned from the heater to face him, and Della woke up.

"What's going on?" she asked, confused.

"Leave! It's dangerous!" Mort curled further back into the corner, "Go. Now. Take your stuff, leave, leave me here. You can't stay!"

While his words made sense to himself, to Della and Guy, the outburst was more random than anything. They couldn't make out what Mort was saying, only that he had sat up and was yelling about something.

The two rangers approached his bed.

"Mr. Rainey, you need to calm down," Della said, reaching out to touch him. Mort smacked her hand away.

Della took a step back, shocked by his reaction.

Meanwhile, Mort continued to babble incoherently. Any attempt to get near him ended with him smacking the person who tried.

Finally, Della and Guy moved to the other side of the cabin to talk.

"He's delirious. His fever must've gotten worse. I suggest we wait it out, and restrain him as soon as we see an opportunity," Guy suggested. He glanced over to some rope that was bundled in the corner.

Della frowned. "I'd hate to do that to him..."

From where Mort was sitting, he could see the two talking, and Shooter moving in. He crept closer and closer to the two rangers, obviously intent on harming them.

Yet, it was a loud thud that ended up catching Della and Guy's attention. Mort had crawled out of bed, and collapsed on the floor, a few feet from them.

"Ah, shit," Guy mumbled, moving to help Mort up. He reached under Mort's armpits, and pulled him up, dragging him towards the bed. The entire way, Mort fought back, kicking, yelling, and even trying to bite the ranger. Shooter stood in the corner, laughing.

00

Guy managed to get Mort back into bed without getting bit, and had warned the writer that another incident like this would mean that he'd have to be physically restrained. Of course, none of this made sense to Mort. He was busy focusing on Shooter, watching as he lurked quietly about the cabin.

Shooter made a motion for Mort to keep quiet, and he did. He laid back on the bed, and curled up under the covers, hoping that if he closed his eyes, Shooter might disappear.

Mort focused on breathing, and calming himself down, while Guy and Della continued to discuss his condition. Eventually, it got quiet. Mort could no longer hear Shooter's footsteps, or his voice for that matter. Still, he didn't want to open his eyes.

It wasn't long before Mort fell asleep, the sickness and fever and days of dehydration catching up with him. His body just couldn't take it.

00

Mort cracked his eyes open around dawn, feeling a strange pressure on his chest. Shooter was there, pinning him down, staring at him, grinning.

"Fuck!" Mort said, "Get off me!"

Shooter laughed, and slowly climbed off of the bed. "It doesn't matter. I'm you, remember?"

Mort pushed himself up, and began frantically looking around the cabin. His eyes came to rest on Della and Guy, who were tied up and gagged with duct tape, sitting with their backs against the wall.

"Oh my God..." Mort whispered. His hands started to shake. He must've blacked out and overpowered the two rangers. Must've been an adrenaline rush, considering how weak he'd been.

The sound of Della whimpering brought Mort back to the moment. Shooter was walking towards the two, now. He kneeled next to Guy, and ripped the duct tape off of his face, allowing him to speak.

"What the fuck is your problem?! Just let us go and we... we won't report you, okay? You can stay here. We'll just leave you alone. Just please, let us go!"

Shooter considered this for a moment.

"That would be convenient. Less work for me...Wouldn't have to bury ya'll."

"Please, let us go," Guy pleaded again. "We were only trying to help you."

Shooter looked to Della, who was staring at him, fear and desperation clear in her eyes. She let out another whimper.

"Shut up!" Shooter yelled, "Let me think!". He tore off another piece of tape, and once again put it over Guy's lips. Della then immediately ceased making noise, though tears had begun to flow down her face.

Shooter took a deep breath and composed himself.

"Ya know, Della, I like you. You're so kind, and caring, and pretty," he said, once again kneeling down. He was now eye level with her. "You seem like a good person. But then, you went and did it."

Della stared at Shooter, trying to understand what he was talking about.

"Going to play stupid?" Shooter asked, glaring at her.

Della quickly shook her head 'no', and more tears began to fall.

Shooter reached to his side, pulling out a hunting knife he had sheathed there. With his other hand, he grabbed Guy by the hair, forcing his head upward.

"Did you think," Shooter said, holding the knife to Guy's throat, "That I didn't see you kiss him?"

Della's eyes got wide, and again she shook her head.

"What, you're going to tell me that you're 'just friends?' All you women are alike, leading men to believe that you care while fucking someone else instead. All of you." He pressed the knife deeper into Guy's skin, making the ranger groan. "See, the thing is," he continued, "If you didn't care, you wouldn't mind me slitting his throat."

Della flinched, and at that point, shut her eyes. This just angered Shooter more. He let go of Guy so that he could slap her.

"Fucking LOOK. AT. ME!"

Della opened her eyes. Then with one, swift move, Shooter pulled Guy's head back and slit his throat, cutting his neck nearly ear to ear. The male ranger made a choked gurgling sound as blood began to rush out of the wound, dripping onto him, Shooter, and Della.

Guy's body soon fell limp, and Shooter let go of him, letting him fall onto the floor. As the life drained from her colleague, Della began to hyperventilate. She was sure that this man was going to kill her. Sure of it.

Knowing her time was near, she again closed her eyes, and mentally began to pray. She prayed that God would forgive her of her sins, and that her death would be painless. She hoped that someone would take care of her cat back home, and that someone might find her body, so that her family would know what happened.

She was midway through a quick prayer for her parents when she heard the sound. Someone had opened the cabin door! Then, there were voices.

"Hey – you – what the hell?! Mark, Jake, he's got a knife!"

The voices belonged to three men. Three strong, athletic Ranger EMTs. They were the first thing Della saw when she opened her eyes. The next was Mort, holding the knife to his own throat.

But, before he could even cut himself, Jake had kicked Mort's arm, flinging the knife across the room. Mark and Dave took over from there, picking Mort up and dragging him away. They used nylon cable ties to handcuff him. They weren't metal, but they would do. Meanwhile, Jake began to work on Guy, trying to apply pressure to the wound.

The whole thing was so surreal. Della had completely forgotten about the medevac they'd called for the night prior. They'd shown up almost just on time.

She watched as Guy continued to bleed, and as Dave and Mark dragged Mort outside. The writer didn't even seem to put up a fight. He looked almost resigned to whatever punishment the legal system had in store for him.

00

It wasn't long before the group of six were in a helicopter, racing towards the nearest hospital where they hoped to save Guy, and where Mort would be picked up by the police. Dave and Mark had tied him to a seat.

Della stared blankly out the window, too shell shocked to look anywhere else.

It was after the chopper had landed, while the police were escorting Mort off that Della heard his voice once again.

"You should've listened to me," he said, as the cops put him in proper handcuffs. "You women never know what's good for you."

Before Della could reply, the officers had taken him away.


End file.
